The Epic Espionage Artist
by Wildhorses1492
Summary: Words whispered in the dark... The betrayal of a beloved son... An espionage artist lives in 20th century Britain under many aliases. One day an old love comes calling in the midst of an almost-murder and seven friends are brought together for one final heist. The Rings must be found at all costs, for Narnia calls and cannot be denied. A dark and vicious twist on the Narnia Series…
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

"Josué Montoya…. Fredrick Seine… Stiven Nikto… none of these is your real name; who are you?" The man asked, swallowing nervously, eyes meeting the young man's chocolaty brown ones. Those eyes might have once held warmth, but now embodied only steely resolve.

"You dearly wish to know this, yes?" he said lightly, tightening his hold on the Russian handheld, smiling and letting his Telmarine accent slip out. The man nodded. The agent leaned forward, whispered something which caused the hazel eyes of his captive to widen, and then shot the man through the heart. "And now my secret will die with you," he muttered, walking off.

The blood pooled around the inquisitive deceased's head and shoulders in a dark reddish-black outline. Questions cost… something; don't they?

* * *

 **A/N: R &R please, I would be eternally grateful. **

**It's going to get interesting, I promise!**

 **I shouldn't be doing this, but the idea became stuck in my head and refused to leave. I don't know if I'll continue writing it or not, reviews will convince me... (see what I did there? lol)**

 **Note: this story is rated 'T' but there is mature content in the future. This is not a companion to any of my stories, the only things that will carry over is my general Narnian AU, which is on my profile. Details to follow in later chapters. Peter was never married in Narnia, neither was Edmund. This is a _very_ different route. Times, dates and etcetera have all changed, details as I've said, to follow.**

 **Can you guess who deadly Mr. X is above?**

 **WH**


	2. Chapter 2

**~|:Chapter 1: Adaptation to Survive**

The young man walked down the busy London street as if he cared not that the war was raging and he could play a part in it. His stride was easy and his gaze aimless; for another night he'd survived without getting bombed or flattened.

His hair was longer than most, falling to barely brush his shoulders, dark black in color; his skin was a warm tan, which was unusual among all the fair-skinned brunettes, auburns and the occasional blonde subjects of the British Crown. The dark trench coat he wore was of good quality, which most would think had been bought before the war in some Parisian shop.

In fact, all his clothes were cut of remarkably good cloth, and were cut very nicely; so it was clear he must have been wealthy before the war or was wealthy still. The only thing odd were his shoes, which were more like the boots one saw in theatre than the shoes worn by most men of the day.

His trousers mostly covered them, leaving only the heel and the toes of the boots exposed; however, the faded black leather was eye-catching if you looked close enough. But, he was comfortable in them; therefore they stayed. They also served as a reminder of better days; days he wanted to remember even though they were filling up with bittersweet memories too rapidly than he cared to admit.

Now, while he looked carefree he was pulling an excellent cover; if you studied him closer, he was watching intently the middle-aged man in front of him walking not five steps away. Concealed in the young man's pocket was a Nagant M1895; the Russian handgun was old, and not something much used since the TT-30 semi-automatic had been rolling out en masse in 1930, but he didn't like the TT-30, something about the lack of class disgusted him.

The handgun was kept around mostly for sentimental reasons, because he felt a small sliver of pity for the passing of the Old Ways. He always had and supposed early on that he always would.

He smiled emotionlessly as the man stopped before the alleyway they'd talked about half an hour before and waited for his orders, looking at him inconspicuously; although for all the world it appeared as if he was observing the crowd. With a barely perceptible tilt of his head, the young man motioned for him to walk down the alley. The man did as ordered, the edge of his grey coat catching in the wind of a passing automobile.

Walking down the alley several hundred feet, they came to a door; a door which, in all reality, should not have been there because the storefront that was on the street side was too deep for stairs to be in the back. However, Dennis Hoffman knew from years of experience that things were not all they appeared to be.

"What now?" he asked gruffly, trying to get his captor to speak more than the cryptic orders he'd been barking all night and sometime of this morning.

"Open it," the young man ordered calmly, pulling the Nagant from his pocket and motioning with it to the door.

"Why?"

"You ask too many questions," the young man reprimanded in a flawless, clipped British accent. He slid the weapon back into his coat pocket and moved to open the door. "Don't think about it, I never miss," the dark haired young man muttered absently, pushing his shoulder against the door; which tended to stick on cool mornings.

Dennis simply stared at him as he worked; appraising the person who had been the subject of his scrutiny for many months now. He had known the young man at the Office, and had become curious about him when he'd caught him muttering in Russian. The communist country was an ally with England; but still, it was best to know what even friends were doing in these trying times.

Dennis had followed him everywhere, but not much had come of it. Last night, Dennis had caught the young man in the act of handing off papers; documents Dennis didn't know what sort of information they contained, only that it must have been important for the transaction to be carried out at night. But the young man had caught him at gunpoint moments later and insisted they take a trip, since they'd never much talked at the Office.

Dennis, realizing that he had given himself away, had acquiesced rather than tempt death; which was why they were on a London backstreet opening this door at nine thirty Monday morning September, 1943. The older man slipped out of his thoughts when the door gave inward and the young man nearly stumbled.

"After you," he said, motioning for Dennis to walk ahead of him once more.

They climbed up several flights of stairs to a narrow hall; which made Dennis guess that they were now on the top floor of the building. Taking a key from his pocket, the young man inserted it into the lock on a chipped and scarred black-painted door. As he unlocked the door, his profile was outlined in the bright light and dust motes of the window on his other side. Its blinds had been drawn, but they were old and let in quite a bit of light still.

 _"_ _How strange that someone so young should be involved in such a detailed line of work. He works alone, too; how he could have risen to that level so quickly, since he can't be more than twenty– twenty-three, is intriguing,"_ Dennis mused to himself.

"If you would?" the young man yanked him from his musings with the sharp, though still forcefully polite, words.

"Of course," Dennis murmured, stepping over the threshold and into the flat quickly.

He took in his surroundings with minute detail. The first thing he noticed was the cleanliness; the second, books. Thousands, well, more like hundreds, of books. Three of the far walls were built-in bookcases, simply stuffed with books and tomes of all shapes and sizes. The only space that wasn't shelf or books was a cream-colored bit of wall; on which a mirror hung.

The furniture was of good taste, something which surprised Dennis; so many of the young people these days had dreadful taste. The kitchen was small, with a stove, oven and table. It also looked rarely used. Another door across from him was closed, but Dennis could guess that there was a bedroom on the other side and nothing important; the way his captor ignored it and the fact that he didn't bother to protect it. As the young man motioned for Dennis to sit on the couch or in an armchair, Hoffman noticed a sword hanging above the small mantel. It was exquisite, and like nothing he had ever seen.

"Care to take off your coat?" the young man asked, shrugging off his own and slipping the Nagant into his right trouser pocket as he hung the trench coat on the brass coatrack near the door.

"Yes," Dennis admitted, sliding out of the grey coat and handing it to the young man.

Dennis analyzed the person before him. He was at least twenty-three, slim, but tall and well-built, with dark brown eyes and black hair, which he unconsciously swept back with his left hand every now and then, regardless if it was in the line of his vision or if it wasn't. His clothes had been carefully tailored to suit him; they were made of a durable material; which told Hoffman that he must do quite a bit of running, jumping, and other occupations that involved a great deal of motion.

He walked in a very confidant manner, as if he expected to be heeded and instantly obeyed; Dennis realized that this was probably how he'd risen to the top; he gave good orders. With a bit of a tired sigh, Dennis sank to the couch, watching the young man as he moved to the kitchen and began boiling some water for coffee.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **I know this is short, but I'm working on it. R &R, it's the only way to keep this story circulating. Otherwise, I'll delete it until I finish my others. **

**Know who Mr. X is yet?**

 **WH**


	3. Chapter 3

**~|:Chapter 2: Still Playing the Game**

"Ben, why did you bring me here?" Dennis asked, knowing that he'd get only a vague answer; like he had the last dozen or so times he'd asked before.

"Don't call me that, since you know that isn't my name," the agent said, glancing up momentarily.

"Well I know your name isn't 'Stiven Nikto' or 'Mr. X' either," Dennis retorted, keeping his voice even as he noticed the metal arsenal cabinets in the area where the dining room table or home office should have been.

"I know, but I want you to tell me what you know about me that I _don't_ _know_ you know," the young man said casually, sitting down at a table and methodically unloading and cleaning the Nagant.

"Have you ever been in the military?" Dennis asked, watching intently as he cleaned the weapon.

"No, I have seen enough of blood and death for many lifetimes," was the reply; the rogue operator didn't even bother glancing from his work.

"Could have fooled me," Dennis muttered, leaning back slightly as he picked up a book of Sherlock mysteries.

"Don't you enjoy attempting to solve those before Sherlock? I love Sir Conan Doyle's works, so invigorating and engaging," the young man remarked, smiling slightly.

"Hmm," Dennis concurred, flipping through the book. "Where in Britain are you from?" He asked, assuming that the young man was British; since he did have a rather normal sounding accent, albeit it was too perfect, and sounded almost unnatural.

"I'm not from England, but I'm partial to London," he replied absently, the Nagant clicking sharply as he reloaded it.

"Then where _are_ you from?" Dennis probed, looking up from the novel.

A fond, faraway look came to the young man's face. "A wonderful land you shall never hear tell of," he declared brusquely, seeming to shake himself out of his reverie as he spoke.

"Oh," was all Dennis could think to say to answer that strange sentence.

"Now, why have you become so curious of me? I was nothing to you three months ago, now I'm clearly on your 'Somebody' list; why?" His voice grew harder as he spat out the 'why.'

"Because, you've done some things that have put the Office on alert," Dennis began.

"Oh, shut up, you know that Intelligence wants to know more about me! We both know it; so they sent you to find out about what I do, how I operate. I do my job a little too well, I clean up my messes a little too perfectly and I only take a mission when I want to; it's frustrating the Office and so they sent you to discover the secrets of Mr. X!" the young man declared sharply; an annoyed, frustrated expression crossing his features.

"Maybe," Dennis tried to be vague.

"You're so boring! Do you know how many agents they've sent that haven't ever come back?" the young man asked, smiling emotionlessly at the man sitting in his living room.

Hoffman paled a bit. "How many then?" He was careful to keep his tone careless.

"You'll make… twenty-something – no, I think you'll be twenty-two," Agent X declared with finality, after thinking it over for a moment.

"What did you do with them? They all served their King and country the way they had been ordered to; you can't just kill a good man, that's bloody wrong!" Dennis exclaimed sharply, becoming disgusted and outraged by this arrogant young man who acted like he knew it all.

"Who said they were all men? Intelligence thinks they know me. I talk with one woman, and they send twelve. Of course not at the same time… But still, I don't think every special agent gets twelve women following him around, it's rather... unusual. And did I ever say I killed them? I just, use them, when Intelligence won't stand down," he admitted.

"What do you mean 'use them'?" Dennis asked sharply.

"Oh, you know, exchange them. I barter them for freedom or information. If Russia wants to know what the Americans are doing, a special agent works wonders for getting such information. Or if Hitler wants to know where the British warships are heading, a blonde in a business suit gets me what I need," he replied nonchalantly, as if talking about London traffic.

"You're appalling!" Hoffman shouted angrily, rushing to his feet.

"Oh, stop whining and sit down! It's business and you know it." Agent X pointed the Nagant at him, brown eyes silently warning him to sit or risk being shot. Slowly, barely curbing his anger, Dennis lowered himself back onto the couch. "I prefer silence, company is always so... aggravating." The young man stood and walked back into the kitchen to finish the coffee.

"What are you go–" before Dennis could finish his sentence, a knock sounded at the door. Ben glanced up sharply. Casting a sidelong, contemplating glance at Dennis, he strode across the room with quick, lithe steps, and opened the door.

"Thank God you're here; I know it's been years, but, I need your help…" the woman at the door was a raven-haired beauty; she was probably some sort of singer or model before the war; she'd make a fine pin-up girl Hoffman couldn't help but think, staring at her.

Her skin was pale, whether from cosmetics or naturally, Dennis couldn't tell in the shadow of her hat. She'd definitely dolled herself up for this visit he noticed; taking in the dark red lips and expensive, stylish, but old, garnet-colored dress she wore. Pearl earrings set in gold, a black hat, a small clutch and black heels; along with a pair of elegant black gloves completed her wardrobe.

The way Agent X stared at her made Dennis think they knew one another well. Very well, he deduced seconds later, as he considered the agent's appraising glance when she waltzed past him on those eye-catching black heels. She knew how to make a man stare, no doubt about it.

There'd certainly been something between them once, which the rogue agent was willing to rekindle. Dennis couldn't help but smirk; noticing the way the agent's gaze never left the woman as she walked into the room. The normally cold brown eyes held a flicker of warmth that changed his entire countenance from cold killer to handsome, debonair young man.

"Who's this, not another one of those…?" she trailed off as she pulled the long obsidian pin from the back of her black, wide-brimmed hat, looking at Agent X expectantly for a reply. He nodded slightly, turning his gaze to the Nagant in his hand absently.

"Oh, Caspian, I wish this hadn't been what Aslan had chosen for you, although… you _do_ do it well," the mystery woman said with a suggestive smile, her hand coming to linger on the agent's arm a little longer than was necessary after resting her hat and pin on a nearby table.

"Don't I?" He said, voice low, coming to stand a bit closer to her, their eyes meeting.

"So, your real name is Caspian, is it?" Dennis asked, glad to know he'd gleaned that bit of information.

"Sit down before you hurt yourself," Caspian ordered, waving the Nagant slightly, turning his focus away from the woman momentarily. "Why are you here? I haven't heard anything from you in three years; not since I put you on that train," he glanced at the woman, an edge in his voice.

"I know we didn't part in the friendliest of circumstances; but you'd just used my father to sell information to Germany, how was I supposed to feel?" she asked sharply, drawing herself up; though it did no good, she was almost a foot shorter than the special agent.

"I got your father back, didn't I? That was a mistake, a necessary one, however!" he argued in frustration, quickly defending his place.

"Before we go on about our epic fails, what are you going to do with him?" she gestured at Dennis.

Caspian looked at him. "Lock him in the bedroom for now, I suppose," he replied, giving the Intelligence agent a quick glance.

Dennis scowled after the key turned in the door lock. The room was windowless and impossible to escape from. Knowing he'd have to wait, he went to the door to see what he could hear. Perhaps the mystery woman could give him some answers regarding 'Mr. X' as he called himself.

"I _would_ have stayed, if it hadn't been for _that_ _woman_!" the mystery lady's voice sounded not only sophisticatedly cold, but slightly hurt.

"Please, Liliandil was a momentary lapse of clarity on my part; even though you _knew_ – and still know – I needed the woman's information regarding Germany for England!" Caspian argued.

"So you let her spend the night here, how thoughtful of you!" the mystery lady's voice was sarcastic.

"Why not come back in an hour? Hoffman in there will be six feet deep and you could stay the night," The tone of his voice had softened; both of them seemed to be ignorant of the fact that he had just mentioned killing someone.

Dennis frowned at the implications but, like any good agent, continued listening.

"I- I shouldn't…" her voice faded.

"But you know you will. You always will," he spoke with surety.

"You know me too well…" she trailed off. Dennis couldn't hear anything for several moments.

"Why did you come again?"

Dennis was a bit surprised, the accent had changed entirely, though it was still certainly Caspian speaking. It sounded a strange mix of Spanish, Mediterranean and Portuguese. Dennis, naturally inquisitive – which meant most of his missions went beyond duty and verged on personal interest – wondered again where Caspian was from. The tone was coaxing, indulgent almost, as he tried to coerce an answer from her and also convince her to stay.

"Caspian, we must get into Narnia; at least, Jill and Eustace must. We need the rings." The woman's voice was soft now, but still carried a current of urgency.

"But you know what happened to them; the Germans have them somewhere, doing experiments on whoever they can get their hands on; probably innocent Jews."

"I know that the Germans found them before we did, Aslan knows what they're doing with them now… But you're a special agent, couldn't you help?"

"I could try, but that would mean contacting certain parties in Berlin, going to Germany and possible death is involved. My life is worth more than a kiss," his voice descended into a whisper which Dennis found utterly frustrating; he needed to know more about those contacts in Berlin and these rings the woman wanted; what could _they_ do? Damn the romance, he needed _information_!

"But you have one of those stupid agents in your bedroom. Why does Intelligence keep sending those fools; don't they trust you?" Her voice was light, breathless. Dennis scowled, what did she mean 'fools?' They were the best of the Office.

"Susan, the Office doesn't trust a bloody thing anymore. Least of all their special agent who can adopt any accent, any language, after hearing it once," Caspian replied, laughing lightly.

"Why not tie him up out here, I'll wait," the mystery woman, 'Susan,' suggested; her voice hinting at something Dennis would rather not think about, especially since his death was imminent. If there was ever a time he hated women, it was now.

"Where are your brothers?" The question was startling after the long silence.

"Somewhere in Wapping entertaining themselves, I'd imagine. Lucy's with them, as are Eustace and Jill. Mother and Father have gone back to America, no doubt something to do with one of your missions which put the country at risk."

"You're still as beautiful as the day you left me."

Dennis moved away from the door, knowing exactly where that random endearment was heading. "If we'd known about the woman, we might have been able to bring him under control," he muttered to himself, pacing. Suddenly, in the middle of his seventh circle of the room, the door opened.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **I know, I couldn't help it... Yes, yes, one of his aliases is Benjamin... Last name alias? I dunno... probably Barnes... if I thought about it. I'm sorry, I'm just so enjoying playing god mode! (If you haven't seen POI you won't get that either...)**

 **Ah, beloved Sherlock references too...**

 **Warning: There will be flashbacks and the chapters might alternate between past and present; in both Narnian time and our time (1930s-40s, I mean). I'll try to warn you, but it just depends on whether I feel like it or not...**

 **R &R, I thrive on them, I really do,**

 **WH**


	4. Chapter 4

**~|:Chapter 4: Schön, Sie nach so langer Zeit zu sehen**

"Come on, we need to go." Caspian stood there, trench coat back on and Nagant in his hand; another hand-held in his pocket, Dennis noted. His gaze fell on the woman as he was herded into the living room. She walked up to him.

"I'm not Intelligence, but I did help Agent X on one or two of his endeavors and I'm extremely skillful with poison and a gun of any kind. I'd rather we didn't bring you along; but, since we are, I thought you should know that." Susan glanced at Caspian with a quick smile before staring seriously into Dennis' grey eyes.

"You really shouldn't have left me, I missed you," Caspian whispered, sliding an arm around her waist, briefly resting his nose in her hair; he loved the smell of roses and wisteria; it was utterly Susan. "You make this so… _fun_." Both smiled.

"Well, we'll see what happens. If we get the rings and live, I want _a_ ring," She said pointedly, pulling him a bit closer by the collar of his coat.

"Hmm… I don't know about that, we'll see though, _min kära_ ," he whispered, standing so their foreheads almost touched, smiling at her. "Come on, Hoffman, this'll be a new sort of mission; now you're working for my country," he turned away from the woman and addressed Dennis curtly. "I don't trust you, but I need you; here," so saying, Caspian tossed him a Luger.

"Why don't you have any British arsenal?" Dennis asked, studying the German weapon.

"I like foreign weapons, they leave everyone wondering who did the deed, besides; British arsenal just doesn't have the Old World quality I like. And, this Nagant was a gift," he remarked, looking at the gun in his hand.

"Oh," Dennis mumbled, stuffing the semi-automatic into his trousers pocket. After a cursory check; with both Caspian and Susan going over what they might need for the others, they left the flat; Caspian locked it behind them and then slid the key into a niche in the wall nearby. Without a second glance backward, they descended the stairs; Agent Hoffman wondering what in the blue blazes he'd gotten himself into.

 **~o0o~**

After taking a cab to Wapping, they began combing the streets for the rest of Susan's family; Caspian and Hoffman methodically searching the streets and Susan inquiring at hotels and restaurants. Finally, at Howie's Café, they found them. By that time, a light drizzle had started, and both Hoffman and Caspian had turned up their coat collars. When they walked into the restaurant, keeping their fedoras on, they received strange, curious glances, but were asked no questions. A woman dressed like Susan was in the dark red and black dress with two men behind her both physically fit and deathly solemn seemed mysterious, but official.

"I feel as if I'm someone important with you two standing behind me," Susan whispered to Caspian as they walked to a booth in the back where her siblings, cousin, and friend were seated.

"But you _are_ someone important, Highness," Caspian returned lightly, a small smile, Dennis didn't know if it meant he was amused or interested, coming across his face.

"Stop, Hoffman," Susan said guardedly, but only after laughing quietly at his jest.

They came to the table. Standing as they were, blocking the dim light overhead and nearly swathing the table and its occupants entirely in darkness, they gave the whole atmosphere a foreboding edge. "Look who I found," Susan said brightly, though her voice was still low. With a small flourish, she motioned to Caspian. Hoffman analyzed the diners before him quietly; wondering how they knew Agent X.

"Doesn't this picture just fit you, Susan?" a voice muttered from the shadows.

"Caspian, it's been a long time," a blonde man who looked to be in his middle-to-late twenties remarked, holding out his hand.

"What's it been, four – five years?" a brunette, the same one who had commented on Susan's appearance with the two men, declared; glancing up from his Chilean sea bass, Caesar salad and white wine. Dennis Hoffman didn't know it, but Edmund Pevensie had always been especially fond of fine food. This was not it, but it would do in a pinch.

"Six years I think, or, coming to six. Yes, Peter, it has been a long time," Caspian agreed, shaking the proffered hand.

"It's so good to see you again! How's the job?" Lucy asked, looking up at him with a bright smile.

"Busy, Hoffman here is what I get for being too good," he answered her question, nodding at Agent Hoffman.

"Well, that's just bloody crummy, why don't they trust you? Sure you've done a few things that were wrong, but you don't belong to them, they should know that!" a blonde boy with hazel eyes commiserated angrily, defending his friend's lifestyle.

"I'm sorry about Narnia… and Rilian," Jill declared softly.

Caspian looked at her sharply. "My son was never meant to rule in such a way; I suppose it could not have been helped. We all make foolish mistakes. I only wish I could have returned to fix them," Caspian told her, his voice softening as he mentioned his 'son'.

"Whatever reason Aslan brought you here, it's good we have you now; we need you!" Lucy declared urgently.

"Although I'm sure Susan told you that over a glass of wine and the comforts of your flat," Peter cut in; glancing up from his dinner and meeting Caspian's eyes knowingly, blue eyes sparkling with mischief though his face remained impassive.

"Peter, stop, that was over years ago." Even as she spoke however, Susan shared a look with Caspian that meant it was far from over; he smiled slightly.

"I hear you want the rings, then," he asked abruptly, wanting to get down to business.

"No, Caspian, we _need_ them. Since Jadis and Safiiri destroyed all the portals, we need those rings to get into Narnia to save it. Each time we found another portal, it wasn't large enough to transport all of us to Narnia, so we had to send the younger children; the rings have unlimited power, they can take as many of us back into Lumea as we think necessary," Peter informed his friend.

"I know, but I also know that the Germans have those rings. Remember what happened last time?" Caspian pointed out.

"We're aware of the bloodshed and the violence, but as rulers we must expect that losses – however great they are – mean the betterment of our country. That country and our subjects come first; not these meaningless peasants that only care to squabble with one another over parcels of land and control," Edmund spoke up, casually taking another bite of his bass as if he hadn't just written off the war as childish.

"I nearly died, my son was used against me, and now you expect me to be able to sneak under the Third Reich and steal something that I've spent countless hours speculating over until I deduced that it was a lost cause?" Caspian asked, keeping his voice emotionless, but still it carried a tense note that was hard to ignore.

"Rilian was your and Susan's fault, not ours; besides, Narnia was too unstable anyway; we all knew it would fall. Now it has and there's nothing you or I can do about it. Rilian turned his back on his own father because he wanted to 'be on the winner's side,' as he so bluntly put it. And Lucy and Aslan both saved you from death; you must admit, this is your second life, your second chance with Susan," Peter glanced meaningfully at his sister as he spoke.

"I don't deny it, but I want to know what has happened that's caused all of you to come begging me for aid; throwing Susan at my feet; it's not like you, Peter, Edmund," Caspian pointed out, raising a dark eyebrow as he spoke, waiting.

"You're the only one with enough knowledge to get us into Germany. We can all speak the language as well as any Deutsch; it's getting through the border that's our problem. You pose the answer to said problem. Also, we need someone with your skills, and you know it," Edmund explained in a hushed tone, smiling at Caspian.

"Well, you know how much I like nearly becoming fodder for the political fires; let's hear the plan, I'm in," Caspian declared after a moment's thought. Instantly Lucy moved down to allow him to sit; Peter did the same for Hoffman and Susan, although he stood up and made Hoffman sit on the inside.

"Bright move," Caspian commented, noticed Peter's actions.

"He's our insurance?" Peter asked casually, casting a critical gaze over the special agent.

"Of a sort, I'll need him where we're going," Caspian replied.

"What in the bloody hell is going on?" Hoffman asked, keeping his voice low. Everything he'd heard was swimming around in his brain, confusing him to no end.

"War, Hoffman, war – and you're being invited to participate in the ranks," Caspian said with a cold grin, leaning forward over the table as Edmund began to talk in hushed tones of their plan.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Well? R &R please, It's dearly appreciated.**

 _'Min Kara'_ **Translation: my dear, my darling, etc.**

 _'Schön, Sie nach so langer Zeit zu sehen'_ **Translation: Good to see you after all this time**

 **Lugar: German hand pistol common in the thirties, forties and fifties. If any arsenal comes up in my writing that is unknown or foreign in make, I should explain it, if I don't, you can go look any of it up on Wikipedia or any other site on the internet.**


	5. Chapter 5

**_~Flashback, may 6th, 1937~_**

"What's happening?" Lucy cried, as the walls of the underground railway seemed to be sucked into a great void.

"Hold onto me!" Susan cried, grabbing for her little sister quickly. The fourteen year old clung to the outstretched hand, wondering why they were being called this way. It hadn't been so graphic ever before; of all the many times they'd been called, it had not been this worse; something was surely wrong now.

Peter and Edmund moved closer to their sisters, grabbing them by the arms and pulling them together as the wind howled and the station slipped away from them. Flashes of blue broke the vapid black as Peter stared around his siblings. The cold of the darkness was suddenly interspersed with a blast of warmth and light.

Suddenly, the wind stopped, a fierce lion's roar echoing on and on, causing the four young adults to start in surprise. They looked around them as the light filtered into their vision, illuminating their surroundings.

The overgrown courtyard was dearly familiar, as it had only been a year since last they'd left Narnia through the Professor's crumbling garden archway, and two years since the wardrobe. Walking among the bountiful early spring blossoms one evening in the gardens of Cair, the monarchs noticed a wooden door in a wall that had escaped their attention. Going through it found them without Caspian and Rilian's company, and back in Digory Kirke's English country garden, stumbling through the gate that had been a portal into their beloved country.

They hadn't seen Narnia since.

Now here they were, the ruins crumbling around them all that remained of the once glorious majesty of Cair Paravel. Susan gasped and Edmund bit back a curse; knowing that he might accidentally unleash a spell in his fury and anguish. In Narnia, meaningless English words had unusually great or powerful meanings. But Peter did not bother holding back his wounded cry and Lucy moaned; tears trailing down her cheeks; her silent misery reduced to merely collapsing on her knees in the soft grass spreading around them.

"Wh-what has become of dear Narnia?" Edmund asked. His skin, already pale from his days as prisoner to Jadis, was now bleached an alarming white and drawn with mental pain.

"Oh, beloved Narnia, what has happened; Aslan, how could you have failed to call us back – why did you let us forsake you?" Lucy whispered, trailing her hand over smooth marble blocks and flowering vines.

"We must find the answers; we must discover Caspian's fate and the undoing of Narnia; this land must be avenged!" Peter declared sharply, his tone heavy with grief and wrath as he turned and began touching the still-standing walls, pulling ivy away wildly, looking for stairs to the upper level; remembering in his mind the layout of the grand palace. His siblings soon joined him in the maddened, desperate search.

Edmund was the one who stumbled upon the hidden door that led to the Treasure Room – literally. He paused, trying to catch his breath, and placed his hand over several thick vines that completely covered one wall; with a shout of exclamation as his hand found no support, he fell through the leafy foliage.

 _"Ed!"_

 _"Edmund!"_

 _"Eddie!"_

His siblings called frantically for the young boy; rushing over to where they had seen him disappear. "Sorry for the fuss, come in; it's perfectly safe!" Out from the wall of green Edmund's pale hand and forearm protruded; beckoning them to walk into the foliage after him. Peter glanced at his sisters, before wordlessly walking into the vines, which looked odd since they seemed strong, thick and solid. Susan took a deep breath, grabbed Lucy's hand for support; and together they walked through the vinery; nervously wondering what awaited them.

Peter, his shoulders and white shirt covered in a light film of dust, grinned down at them, his blonde hair bearing a few leaves and dead twigs from the vines. "I can't believe it, you must see it for yourselves; but it's all still here!" he said jubilantly, turning and walking down a set of stairs that led deeper into the recesses of the darkness; which was not so dark, it was pin-pricked with shafts of golden light.

Susan walked to the edge of the stone landing, which was now rail-less since the marble balustrade had long ago tumbled down to the floor below. The sight almost took her breath away; gold. Weapons, silver, clothes, and armor; all the wonderful things from the restoration of the Golden Age and the glorious age itself. "Caspian must have put it down here when the war– or whatever happened here, began," she mused aloud, quickly wiping away her tears at the memory of the young man.

"I'm sorry Sue; I know how much you loved him… Come on, let's go see what of ours is down there," Lucy said softly, coming to stand beside the seventeen year old.

"Yes, let's," Susan agreed, moving toward the stairs; but she seemed a little dazed, as if barely comprehending what was taking place around her. Her heart was breaking, realizing that he could be long dead, that everything she had come to love had been swept away by the simple, careless gales of time.

Edmund pulled two swords from a statue clad in armor, crafted of his likeness; or what had been his likeness the last time they had been there. "Vermogen and Besterik, I cannot believe that they were not used and lost in battle, or given to an officer as gifts for their valor and honor," Edmund remarked softly after unsheathing the weapons; gently running his fingers over them as if they were something very dear.

"The great-sword Rhindon, with it I slew Maugrim the wolf and Vochragor the sorcerer," Peter said softly, pulling his own sword and letting it glint in the light, marveling over its extreme craftsmanship. Edmund turned to him and smiled; these weapons were precious, and countless years had gone into these blades which had served the young men faithfully in every Narnian adventure they'd yet encountered.

With a metallic snap, Peter pushed his blade back into its sheath and began opening a large chest before him. The contents were mostly clothes, shoes and the occasional brooch or chain that Peter had used on his cloaks and capes. There were two signet rings in a waxed cherry wood box, one with the Narnian crest on the band and the other with his private unicorn emblem melded to the metal circle.

The others had begun going through their clothes and private items as well. Edmund laughingly pulled a small chest out of his larger one; upon opening it he found it filled with all the books he had written plus ones he had enjoyed reading.

"Well, someone was thoughtful," Peter needled, flashing his brother a grin.

"Yes, they were. At least I have something to keep me busy," Edmund jested in reply, before softly closing the lid and running his fingers over the smooth, aged surface. He knew that he would have no time, if any, to read the books before they made peace in Narnia again and solved the mystery before them.

"Oh, I was so tall!" Lucy remarked bitter-sweetly, holding up a dress to her slim, girlish body. It had been a fine ball gown once, the gown she held. She had worn it to Rilian's coronation; when Caspian and Susan and made him Crown Prince. Now it wouldn't fit at all.

"Well, we were older then," Susan said softly, taking her bow and quiver off the statue fashioned to look like a much older Queen Susan; cautiously fingering a pendant she had placed around her neck that Caspian had given her on their fourth wedding anniversary. It had been in her jewelry box, and she had barely resisted crying upon seeing it.

"As opposed to hundreds of years later, when you're younger," Edmund said, grinning as a mail hauberk, which had once fit him perfectly, slid down at an ill-fitting angle on his shoulder.

"Yes…" Peter laughed softly, shaking his head as he pulled proper-fitting clothes for his age now, from his trunk. Thank Aslan he was now almost the same size as his Narnian counterpart.

 **~o0o~**

They all carefully slipped out between the vines into the mid-morning sun, now dressed like Narnians; how good it felt to be back! Even if something troubling was brewing. "Where do we go first?" Peter asked, looking around at his siblings. Naturally he was in command as High King, but he still looked to his siblings for advice; a council of three had been provided for him so that he would never need advisers, or have lack of them.

"I think we should figure out how fortified this ruin still is, and then go about seeing what has happened to the Narnians; but we should be careful about it; after all, we don't know what this world is like anymore," Edmund declared sensibly; his wisdom coming out now that he was back in Narnia. It was always so prominent here, something to do with the air they all guessed.

"I think that is the most pleasant advice can be given in this circumstance," Susan affirmed, speaking in a more Narnian style without even thinking about it.

Lucy smiled, nodding eagerly.

They all knew that it was an excellent suggestion, but that it would take days to fully investigate the ruins of Cair Paravel. During the Dark Age, right before the Caspian dynasty had ruled, the Narnians had made Altair, the citadel of Cair Paravel and the palace itself, into an island; which Caspian X and the Pevensies had rebuilt upon; using magic to raise and lower a bridge across the mile-long water gap that went between the island and the mainland. Cair Paravel, with Altair included, was over eighteen miles all around; quite a journey to investigate in one day.

 ** _~ End Flashback~_**

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Told you there'd be flashbacks! So, now, please review! It will get interesting as time goes on. I want to know your opinions,**

 **Ta,**

 **WH**


	6. Chapter 6

**~|:Chapter 6: C'est La Vie**

"We know that the Germans must be planning something with the Rings, all that _cnau,_ Hitler ever talks about anymore is ' _Die Reinigung der Welt',_ " Edmund began.

"The Purification of the World," Caspian translated, nodding.

"Right, so, there has to be something he's talking about, something with the power to subdue all the nations and countries in this world. He could be talking of the Rings of Vor Svjetova; that means 'Rings of The Worlds,' Hoffman," Edmund elaborated for the British agent.

"So we need to get into Germany and take those rings; not just because we need them, but to keep this world safe from whatever that _Cnauachos_ Führer is planning." Edmund folded the edges of his napkin as he finished.

"I can't imagine they'd let us waltz out of Berlin or wherever they're keeping them just like that, though," Caspian commented skeptically, toying with a glass of wine Eustace had given him.

"We know, and we're getting to that. This is where you and Susan come in. You've done a great deal for every nation, Communist, Ally, and Nazi; now we need you two to work together again to help us get these rings. Susan knows several _influential_ , shall we say, men in Berlin and other areas of various rank that might help all of us slip into Germany unnoticed. But you're the one we need.

"You're the 'Espionage Artist,' as I've heard everyone call you. If anyone knows how to pour water on this bunch of _Untermenschen_ playing with toys too big for their brains, it's you." Edmund grinned. He loved using German words on the Nazi's; especially when he was right about them.

"What do you want me to do? Go into Kehlsteinhaus and steal those rings; because you know that's where he's got them," Caspian said. Even though he enjoyed hearing Edmund call him the 'Espionage Artist,' he would be caught and killed before either of them could blink twice fast; not one of his uppermost priorities at the moment.

"We need to get into Germany; from there we'll decide which of our several plans to use. But we need you to use those bank accounts Aslan provided to give us some reasonable covers. A bunch of Germans no one's ever heard of before simply stepping off the platform into such a dangerous world could be suicidal.

"Nazi's are insane little men running around in green and brown suits eager to please _der_ _Führer_ to rise in rank. They are powerful, sharp, but lake foresighted wisdom. I don't deny Himmler's a perhaps foolish genius, but still, they're playing with fire and have no idea," Edmund replied, reaching for his wineglass.

"You can't just go around laying insults on Himmler, he controls largely the police and security; if anyone will catch us and kill us, it'd be him," Caspian interjected. "But you are correct about the Führer-pleasing," he added with a grin.

"All of the police? Well, this changes things; when did that happen?" Peter asked, frowning.

"Since last month, actually; but Himmler's clever, he has a tight grasp on everything; quite a few fingers in the figurative pies." Caspian supplied the information quickly.

"How do you know all of this?" Hoffman spoke up, reminding everyone of his presence.

"Ohhh," Caspian groaned, resting his head in his arms. "We're not going to be doing this the entire time, are we?" He asked, voice muffled by the sleeves of his thick coat.

"I should hope not," Peter replied, eyeing Dennis with great disapproval. The agent lowered his gaze, wondering why they needed him.

"Caspian, stop griping, I'll take care of Agent Incompetent if worst some to worst," Edmund said brusquely, crossing his utensils over his now-empty plates.

"So, we'll use my cover to get into Germany?" Caspian asked, instantly recovering and resuming business.

"That _is_ what we were thinking," Lucy replied.

"How? I don't think I can get all of you in without suspicions rising," he declared, frowning as his mind worked through all the possible options.

"Well, Susan could be one of _those_ women," Edmund smiled fiendishly at his frowning sister, deliciously pleased with himself. "Jill could be another – only for show, only for show – you must admit, it would work. Lucy could be some sort of secretary for you, I'll be some contact from somewhere – wherever you want me to be from that's plausible – like a banker or something, Peter will be a friend and Eustace could act as a personal security along with Hoffman; they look the part for it."

"You're going for one of those 'young-man-blessed-with-it-all-God's-gift-to-the-world-women-faun-over-him' images, aren't you?" Caspian asked, narrowing his brown eyes.

"You must admit you generally look the part. Heck, we'll call you Mr. Greyson and be done with it!" Edmund exclaimed before taking a long swallow of wine.

Caspian raised an eyebrow, looking mildly amused. "And we'll call Susan 'Sybil', I suppose?" his mouth slowly curving into a barely-there smile.

"No! No, no Sybils and no Greysons!" Susan interjected sharply before Edmund could reply, glaring at her brother; all pretenses of refined, educated woman gone, replaced with angry older sister.

"But if we're going to be shot by Nazis the least you could do is let us entertain ourselves," Caspian argued with a grin, knowing Susan wouldn't get it.

"I will not think of dreadful novels right now. Boys, get your heads out of the gutter or I'll shoot the lot of you and take Hoffman with me to get the Rings," Susan warned.

" _Fine_ , but that was such fun in this dull patch," Edmund moaned momentarily.

"We'll meet in four days here; that should give us time to get engagements and businesses wrapped up, agreed?" Edmund declared moments later; after they'd discussed the plans in detail. Everyone nodded.

Caspian rose form the booth; Susan, Peter, and Hoffman did the same.

"You know, I wasn't in British Intelligence, but I'm quite experienced in the art of imprisonment. If you two…" Peter trailed off, glancing at Hoffman. Caspian slid a glance to Susan.

"You wouldn't mind?" he asked, looking at the blonde again.

"Of course not; it's been three years; if we're going to pull off this plan, we need to be as familiar with one another as possible. Susan's changed... she's, more complex than when last you met. She's done her bit of espionage. Banks, Jews, you know," Peter clarified vaguely in an undertone. Caspian nodded, he knew. He thought he'd seen her once, in Prague, but he hadn't been sure. Besides that, he hadn't had time to figure it out; he'd been too busy using Liliandil's information.

Susan came up to them after talking with Lucy and Jill. "So, where do we go from here?" she asked, blue eyes studying them.

"They're," Peter gestured at Eustace, Jill, Edmund, and Lucy, "Going temporarily to Finchley to wrap up our life and possible strings, burn all trails that German spies might try to find on us; you stay with Caspian– if you don't mind," Peter told her. Susan casually slid her glance toward the agent.

"I don't see why I can't," she answered, spreading her gloved hands, smiling coyly.

"Don't worry about Hoffman, I'll see to it that he keeps quiet," Peter added, turning back to the agent, motioning for him to move; the gun in his pocket a gift from Susan, which she had slipped to him under the table as they talked. Hoffman stared at the hand Peter had casually in his pocket and then turned his gaze to the others standing a bit to the side. All of them had guns now; even the girls. He watched Edmund nonchalantly reach into his pocket or Lucy and Jill hold their clutches a little more carefully. "I told you we're good," Peter said in a low voice, moving to walk out of the restaurant with the agent.

"I'm catching on," Dennis replied.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Translations:**

 _cnau - nut_

 _Cnauachos_ \- _nutcase_

 _Untermenschen - subhumans_

 _Der Fuhrer - The Leader_

 **Kehlsteinhaus - Eagle's Nest** (Hitler's retreat on the summit of Kehlstein)

chapter title: that's life

 **I know, Dorian Grey hints. (horrible movie, weird book, can't stand it, don't recommend it) As I said, this is a mature story. It's not going to be anything else. I couldn't help it, the idea of Edmund suggesting a 'Picture of Dorian Grey' plan and Caspian disliking it was too tempting to resist since Ben Barnes played Dorian. (what's with these names ending in 'ian' Ben?)**

 **Yes, Liliandil is in here. I forgot to mention that... Whoops! Well, you'll find out about that...**

 **R &R, or I perish! **dramatic sighing commences****

 **~ WH**


	7. Author's Note, Unfortunately

**Please forgive me, my wonderful readers, but I must discontinue this story because of lack of research. I'm not taking it down because I'm going to return to it after some much-needed history browsing and period-research. I love this plot, and I love the ending, (yes I have written it) so please don't lose hope.**

 **Once I've refreshed myself on the world in the 1940s, I'll return with a better story-line than the one I began with. Thank you to everyone who has read this story, and to all the Reviewers, Followers, and Favoriters (that's not a word, but whatevs, I'm a writer, so I'll make it work;).**

 **Many happy regards,**

 **WH**


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